A Stranger's Kiss

her passport from her dressing table drawer.
    ‘Tara!’
    Adam’s voice on the other side of the door was the last straw. She flung it open and handed the passport to the security man. Adam took it from him.
    ‘It’s all right, Frank. You can leave it to me.’
    ‘I’m sorry, Mr Blackmore, but the lady seemed to be fiddling with the lock...’
    ‘Don’t apologise. You were just doing your job.’
    ‘Right, Mr Blackmore.’ He seemed relieved. ‘I’ll get off. Shall I keep up the patrols now the lady is home?’
    ‘No,’ Tara intervened quickly. ‘Thank you.’ Frank departed and before she could prevent him Adam was inside. She followed him and snatched her passport from his hand. ‘Still hell-bent on your knight errant act?’ Tara asked, angrily. ‘You’ll be trading in that black monster of yours for something white at this rate.’
    ‘Any time, my lady.’ He bowed ironically. ‘Knight Errant Unlimited. And you already know my fee,’ he drawled. ‘One kiss, to be collected at my convenience.’
    Her face whitened and he was immediately all concern. ‘No, no… I’m sorry. That must have been unpleasant. I should have let them know you were back, but to be honest when I got back from the clinic I just crashed out.’
    He rubbed at his stubbly chin a little ruefully and Tara softened.
    ‘You’d better sit down.’
    He looked around. ‘I like this. It’s very pretty. Have you lived here long?’
    ‘Nearly seven years. I moved in when they finished the conversion.’ He ignored her invitation to sit down, but wandered around, examining the beams.
    ‘These are genuine. When I saw them the other night I assumed they were just fakes.’
    ‘Like you, Adam, I have no time for fakes.’ She wished he would go, but he apparently had no intention of leaving. ‘Would you like a cup of...’ She stopped, self-consciously.
    ‘I’d love a cup of coffee,’ he said, gently. He followed her into the tiny kitchen alcove and spotted the eggs. ‘Frank interrupted your supper.’
    ‘Nothing special. I was just going scramble some eggs.’ She hesitated. ‘Would you like some?’
    He grinned. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’
    A few minutes later they were sitting either side of a solid wooden table tucking into the meltingly soft eggs. Tara was very quiet, determined not to do or say anything provocative. She never wanted to be accused of being a tease again.
    But Adam’s face showed his concern. ‘Are you all right, Tara?’
    ‘I’m fine.’
    ‘Frank was just doing his job. You might have been anyone.’
    ‘I know. I’m all right... really.’
    ‘No, you’re not. You’re as jumpy as a kitten.’ He placed his hand over hers and she duly jumped. He withdrew it quickly. ‘Oh, I see. It isn’t Frank, it’s me. Do you want me to go?’
    She wanted him to go. She wanted him to stay. She just wanted him, but he belonged to someone else. It was unbearable. But he misunderstood her silence.
    ‘You’re expecting someone. I should have realised.’ He stood up. ‘Mr Lambert, perhaps? Although he doesn’t appear to spend much time here.’ He caught sight of the photograph on the mantle and took it down for a closer look. ‘Your wedding photograph.’ His mouth twisted slightly. ‘The bridegroom is rather underdressed for the occasion by most standards.’ He glanced up at her. ‘Your wedding night must have been...interesting.’
    The colour rose to her cheeks. ‘He’d broken his leg.’ Riding his motor-cycle much too fast because he was late for the wedding rehearsal.
    ‘And you were married in the hospital chapel? A rush job, was it?’
    ‘There were circumstances—’
    He was examining the photograph closely. ‘It’s difficult to see because of the traction, but you don’t appear to be—’
    ‘I wasn’t,’ she finally snapped, taking the picture from him. She looked at it, looked at those two happy faces. ‘I think you’d better go now, Adam.’
    He made no move. ‘You were both very young. What were you? Eighteen? Nineteen?’
    ‘Eighteen,’ she murmured.
    ‘Too young. How long did it last?’
    ‘Not long.’ No time at all, in fact. She replaced the photograph, very carefully. ‘He died the night this photograph was taken.’
    ‘Died? The day you were married?’ He stared for a moment at the photograph as if trying to understand. ‘I’m sorry, Tara. I had assumed you were parted, but this...’ He moved towards her as if to offer some comfort, but she knew